THE SILENT VICTORS

Deep, tender, firm and true, the Nation's heart

Throbs for her gallant heroes passed away,

Who in grim Battle's drama played their part,

And slumber here to-day.—

Warm hearts that beat their lives out at the shrine

Of Freedom, while our country held its breath

As brave battalions wheeled themselves in line

And marched upon their death:

When Freedom's Flag, its natal wounds scarce healed,

Was torn from peaceful winds and flung again

To shudder in the storm of battle-field —

The elements of men,—

When every star that glittered was a mark

For Treason's ball, and every rippling bar

Of red and white was sullied with the dark

And purple stain of war:

When angry guns, like famished beasts of prey,

Were howling o'er their gory feast of lives,

And sending dismal echoes far away

To mothers, maids, and wives:—

The mother, kneeling in the empty night,

With pleading hands uplifted for the son

Who, even as she prayed, had fought the fight —

The victory had won:

The wife, with trembling hand that wrote to say

The babe was waiting for the sire's caress —

The letter meeting that upon the way,—

The babe was fatherless:

The maiden, with her lips, in fancy, pressed

Against the brow once dewy with her breath,

Now lying numb, unknown, and uncaressed

Save by the dews of death.